


Hunter's Coat

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Holmes is practically waxing lyrical here, Introspection, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes initially overlooked the obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter's Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #6: "Imitate the actions of a tiger."
> 
> Warnings: Holmesian introspection verging on flights of fancy. Slash goggles recommended but not required. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

I know little of tigers. I might have seen a specimen in a zoo once. If so, I do not recall it; I do not clutter my brain-attic with such trifles. But even I, as focused as I am, cannot be entirely unaware of the creatures. They are too prevalent in literature, in military dispatches, and in popular imagination. From Shakespeare, I know that they are ferocious in battle. From Watson, and from other hunters and ex-military men, I know that they are cunning and deadly predators. And from the value of the jewelry made from their teeth and claws in some parts of the world, I know they are revered.  
  
But I confess I never noticed the obvious about them until a grateful client gifted us a tiger-skin rug to replace the much-burnt, tattered old bearskin rug that lay in front of the sitting-room fireplace. It must have been an enormous beast in life, for its skin was fully as large as our bearskin had been. But unlike the bear’s dull coat, the tiger’s fur was the most vivid combination of black, orange, and white imaginable.  
  
“How can a creature such as this be such a mighty hunter, much less the terror of Indian villages?” I cried. “Surely it must be visible for miles with its gaudy coat!”  
  
Watson glanced at the rug, and then towards me. “You would think so, Holmes, and yet it is not true.  Somehow they blend in to their background, whether it is deep green verdure or tawny grassy plain. And they are so stealthy, so silent, you never notice they are there at all.” He chuckled once, clearly remembering something. “Unless they choose to show themselves, of course.”  
  
And who better to recognize that fact than a man, similarly vivid to me, who blended in so seamlessly with his surroundings to be overlooked by almost all?  
  
My Watson is a tiger, though none seem to know it but me. Fierce and deadly when he needs to be, he shines in my eyes like a beacon, yet fades effortlessly into the background whenever he chooses, and nobody notices the noble creature in their midst. Cunning and intelligence are both his, as is loyalty (which is no part of a tiger’s makeup that I have heard, and yet I believe they are fierce and tireless defenders of their territory).  
  
Yes, he is a tiger, though most would think him a stodgy British lion, or a faithful yet common hound. I, at least, have the wit and good fortune to see and revere him. For he is a treasure in and of himself, worth far more than the costliest jewels and gold that grace tiger’s claws and teeth in gaudy bridal necklaces.  And like a tiger, he can never be tamed, not truly, though he appears domestic enough to the unknowing. I will keep him as I can, and hunt happily by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 6, 2015


End file.
